


Boys Gone Wild

by Tex



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-20
Updated: 2010-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-09 15:11:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tex/pseuds/Tex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spring Break, 1988, South Padre Island, Texas.  John goes off with his buddy Mitch in an effort to forget about his tutor, Rodney McKay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boys Gone Wild

TITLE: Boys Gone Wild  
RATING: NC-17  
CHARACTERS: McKay/Sheppard 6,977 words  
SPOILERS: None; AU Spring Break 1988  
SUMMARY: _ The beach is wide, the water is warm and the beer is ice cold. Women are everywhere, hot women with incredible bodies and damn few are interested in keeping their top on. _

John has never been more miserable in his life.

My thanks to and for their help and encouragement. I heart them.

 

 

South Padre Island, Texas  
March 1988

The beach is wide, the water is warm and the beer is ice cold. Women are _everywhere,_ hot women with incredible bodies and damn few have any interest in keeping their top on.

John has never been more miserable in his life.

He lifts his face up into the bright yellow wash of the Texas sun. John thinks he can feel the frost of the long Colorado winter thawing and he welcomes it. Dex had begged them to come to Taos with him and his family and they had turned him down flat. John and Mitch were sand and surf kind of guys; always had been.

The beach is crazy during the day and actually, it's crazy into the night, too. Pick up volleyball and beach football games are everywhere and there's a wet tee shirt contest about every twenty feet. But with the exception of occasionally playing a few downs of football, John spends most of his time anchoring down his cheap Wal-Mart beach chair and laughing at Mitch when he crashes and burns with women from across the nation.

At the moment, though, John's eyes are closed behind his Ray Bans and he's trying his best to tune out Mitch's voice.

"You really gotta snap out of it, Shep. I don't know who this chick was – I mean, I didn't even know you were dating anybody – but she's fucking up our whole trip."

"Didn't seem to be cramping your style last night." John drawls, turning his head toward Mitch. "What was her major again? Marine Biology?"

"No way. Where did you get that?"

John fakes a thoughtful look. "Mmm. I don't know. For some reason, she made me think of crabs."

Mitch frowns. "What are you saying?"

"She was pretty skanky, buddy."

"Fuck you. You're just jealous," Mitch says and starts rummaging through the ice chest that's stuck in the sand between their beach chairs.

John laughs. "No, I'm really not. Look, I'm here because I had nothing else to do for Spring Break, not because I'm trying to get over a woman. Besides, what do you care what kind of mood I'm in?"

Mitch's warm, sandy hand lands on John's shoulder and John looks at his own reflection in the lens of Mitch's mirrored sunglasses. "Because you're my buddy and I love you, man. When you're miserable, I'm miserable."

John sighs and lets his head fall back again. "I'm not miserable." For a brief moment, a vision of wide blue eyes and the unhappy slant of a mouth appear behind John's lids. Something hot and aching coils in John's chest but he studiously wills it away.

He can do this. He _will_ do this, despite every instinct that tells John to go back, to fucking _run_ back, that he can fix it. John lifts his beer and takes a long swig, swallowing both the beer and the knot in his throat down with difficulty.

Suddenly, a volleyball comes flying through the air and lands at John's feet. John leans forward and scoops it up with one hand, the other still holding securely to the neck of his beer.

A long-legged blonde in a fluorescent green bikini comes running up, her large breasts almost bouncing out of her tiny top. She smiles down at John, showing dazzling white teeth and two deep dimples.

"Sorry 'bout that," she says, her voice low and husky and even under the blast of wind off the Gulf, John can make out the sticky sweet accent of the Deep South. "I didn't hurt y'all, did I?" She stands with one hip cocked forward in obvious invitation and though she used the inclusive y'all, she's looking right at John.

John tosses her the ball without smiling. "No problem." He sits back and out of the corner of his eye, he can see that she stands there for a few expectant moments.

"Hey, there, gorgeous, I'm Mitch. And this is – " Mitch's voice dies as the blonde trots off. "Well, that was rude. And see. That's what I'm talking about. She wanted you and you just blew her off. That's not normal, man."

John closes his eyes. _You have no idea,_ he returns silently.

 

========

They meet at school – John wants a tutor for his Quantum Mechanics and Math Methods 2 class; it's kind of a preemptive strike. He's in the home stretch toward finally getting his Aerospace Engineering degree and he doesn't want to leave anything to chance. When he asks his advisor, Dr. Graydon suggests Rodney McKay, a 19-year-old PhD candidate in need of some extra money.

At their first session, John can't help but notice that Rodney is pretty cute; he looks younger than 19, with a cloud of golden blond hair that would be angelic, if not for Rodney's fast-moving, sarcastic mouth. He quickly discovers that Rodney is arrogant, petty and bad with people but he also has the most brilliant mind John has ever encountered and John tries not to show how much of a turn-on that is.

By their third session, hearing Rodney run through an explanation of black hole entropy makes John flushed and hard; by their fifth session, John spends a portion of every night with his dick in his hand, jerking off to thoughts of Rodney's smooth skin and lanky body and his blue, blue eyes.

By the time John aces his first pop quiz, he also knows something else – Rodney McKay is straight.

 

========

They quit the beach mid-afternoon in favor of pizza, TV and naps, in that order. By the time they clean up, the sky is beginning to darken and the siren call of a party down the hall is too strong for Mitch to resist.

"Come on, Shep. Half an hour, that's all I'm asking."

John wiggles happily back against a stack of pillows with the remote in his hand. "I don't wanna."

"Ten minutes."

"Star Trek's coming on."

"A drink. Have one drink and then you can come back and veg with Spock, okay?"

John gives out with a put-upon sigh. Mitch is wearing baggy shorts and the loud Hawaiian shirt that's been designated Mitch's party shirt since they were freshmen. A sad puppy dog look completes the ensemble and John gives up the ghost.

"Actually, I identify more with Kirk," John points out as they walk out the door.

The party is in two adjoining rooms and is set it up so that you have to walk all the way through the first room and onto the balcony of the second room to get to the keg. There's dancing and borderline humping taking place in every square inch of space, with brief interruptions by impromptu beer bonging and tequila shots.

There have to be more than 60 people crowded into the two rooms; the air conditioner is fighting a losing battle against the kinetic energy of the clash of hormones and by the time John has a drink in his hand, he's sweating and has been thoroughly groped and rubbed against by half the bodies in the place.

He finds a tiny slot of space free of elbows to rest in and hunkers down. John looks around as he sips his beer, taking in the vaguely pornographic gyrations that pass for dancing at this party and unexpectedly feels his groin tighten pleasantly. For a few seconds, he considers the possibility of getting himself laid.

Mitch was right when he accused John of being miserable; he's never been so miserable. And with the cold beer riding smoothly through his veins, John asks himself, _What's the harm?_ grinning at a small but surprisingly muscular girl with smooth brown skin, who smiles back serenely as her hips move with a slow, sensuous grace. She's wearing a cropped top that exposes her flat midriff and a long thin skirt that's got a deep slit up one side that lets her flash him every time she moves. She's got a bikini bottom on but still. Flashing.

John watches for a while, mildly hypnotized by the whole show, able to tune out the blasting music and the boisterous choir of voices thanks to the rush of blood in his ears. John thinks about the blond opportunity he passed up earlier in the day and thanks to the beer, he can't remember the reason he should turn this girl down.

He's not engaged and he sure as fuck isn't married. No one has touched him in a month and there'd been no one for months before that and more importantly, he's never had a one-night stand. What better place to dip his toes in that pool than South Padre at Spring Break?

John downs the rest of his beer in a half dozen gulps and tosses his cup into over his shoulder, ready for action.

Which, of course, is when Mitch's angry voice splits through the cacophony of laughter and music and the sound of breaking glass.

"What the fuck? I don't fucking believe this. Who invited you?"

"Oh, yeah, like you need an engraved invitation to get in here."

John's stomach sinks. No. It can't. There's no way –

"Shut up, geek."

There's only one person that Mitch calls a geek, in that tone of voice, with that much anger. John starts to move, regretfully away from the orgy that he had been so close to joining and through the crowd, looking for Mitch's fluorescent shirt, straining to hear his voice, his heart pounding.

"Ow. It's a free country, or have they not covered that in your remedial American History class yet? Also,_ ow_. I'm going to need that arm later."

All the carefully thought out reasons that have brought John to Texas scatter into a white-hot nimbus because, no, no matter what's happened, Mitch can't – John won't let him –

Then, he spots him, or rather them, and the struggle has already started. John lunges forward, both hands landing hard on Mitch's shoulders, pulling him back when he starts his forward momentum.

"Mitch, stop."

"John."

John moves and latches onto Mitch's sweaty fist while John's attention swings briefly to the source of that hopeful voice. Their little group is gaining spectators who are anxious for a fight but all John can see is the crooked smile he's come to South Padre to forget.

"McKay," he hisses through clenched teeth, "what the hell are you doing here?"

Before he can answer, Mitch yanks his fist out of John's grasp. "Can you believe it? The geek followed us here, all the way from school."

"Oh, shut up, you – you Tom Cruise wannabe," Rodney shoots back, looking smug when a few titters crop up around them.

John's standing close enough to Mitch to feel his body tense and before John can react, Mitch grabs the front of Rodney's tee shirt and gives him a vicious yank away from the wall. Rodney's worried gaze meets John's over Mitch's shoulder and the crowd gets involved, pushing at Mitch, at Rodney, at John as he tries to pry Mitch's hands off Rodney's shirt.

"Damn it, Mitch, let him go."

"Don't worry, Shep, I'll take care of this loser for you."

"I said let him go." John is shouting now, at Mitch, at the partiers who want in on the fun. And then Rodney goes down, just disappears from John's line of vision and fuck it all, he hears Rodney call his name, but there are too many people separating them, and somebody's turned up the music and ZZ Top is blaring out of someone's boom box and that's it, John's had enough.

He yanks Mitch back by the collar of his Hawaiian shirt, and hears the satisfying rip of fabric. Mitch turns with an angry bellow and John just barely ducks the fist he sends flying and counters with a perfect right cross that lands squarely on his best friend's eye.

Mitch goes down hard and in the ensuing melee, John steps over bodies to pull Rodney to his feet and together they run like hell.

========

 

To celebrate achieving a 95 on the transformation theory quiz, John takes Rodney to his favorite hole-in-the-wall, a place where Boulder natives and students alike participate in a nightly effort to get drunk and eat salty, greasy food in the process.

John shifts in his chair, trying to get himself under control. Just because Rodney is eating the city's best onion rings and making noises like he's jerking off is no reason for John's dick to get all perky.

"So." Rodney looks up when John speaks, his lips shiny. John wants to fuck him through the floor. "You were talking about Samantha Carter?"

Rodney grabs his napkin and gives his mouth a swipe before he jumps back into the conversation. "Oh, yes, Sam. She's giving me a run for my money, that's for sure. She'll never be able to match my proficiency with – well, just about anything, but with legs like that, I'm willing to overlook it."

"Really?" John drawls and Rodney shows no sign that he hears the thread of sarcasm running through that one word.

"I can't believe you don't know her. Tall, blonde, amazing body. You sure you don't know her?"

"No." John downs the rest of his beer, picks up the pitcher and refills both their glasses.

"That's hard to believe."

"You said that already."

"It's just that you and she are – " John gives Rodney a narrowed look and Rodney's face looks red in the ambient light of the bar. "I mean, she's beautiful and y – you – um, well – "

John tilts his head and stares.

Rodney's eyes get big when he realizes what just happened. "What?" he squawks. "What?"

When he doesn't answer, Rodney quickly excuses himself to the restroom and once he's gone, John sits back in his chair, his face hot and his pulse racing. He can't do this. John's fallen for the straight guy before but he's never had any trouble walking away. But Rodney – damnit, Rodney –

 

========

 

" – makes me wonder if we're wasting our time acquiring advanced degrees, you know?" Rodney says, as he opens up the door to his room.

John shoulders his way past Rodney and schools his expression to remain blank, ignoring the nervous half-smile that Rodney keeps giving him.

"At the least, we should consider investing in rental property down here. Considering the exorbitant prices, we c – "

"McKay, _shut up_." He's finally had enough. John turns on him, hating the stricken look on Rodney's face that greets him. "What's this 'we' shit? There is no 'we'."

Rodney falls back a step, as if John had hit him. But he recovers fast and sneers at him, which really shouldn't be so hot but it is. "Well, whose fault is that?"

John just stares at him.

"Okay, _fine_. I had a moment of panic. A little hysteria when I realized I'm not as straight as I thought I was. So shoot me."

"Don't think it hasn't occurred to me."

Rodney crosses his arms over his chest, blue eyes hot and annoyed. "Very funny."

John closes his eyes, faintly buzzed from the beer he'd guzzled earlier. Or maybe it's just Rodney. "Why are you here?"

"Why do you think?"

"I have no idea, because you were pretty clear when you went running out of my apartment that day."

"I'm sorry I never called you. I was going to but I didn't want to handle this on the phone. And then there was a massive computer fuckup at JILA and as soon as I was able to go looking for you, I found out you came here."

"McKay, I don't care. It doesn't matter. I'm looking for another tutor so our business is done. The end."

Rodney chews on his bottom lip while John talks and then, he takes a step closer, his hands opening and closing at his waist. "Look, you're mad at me and I don't blame you. I blew it. I mean, it was a nuclear meltdown level failure of my normally exceptional intellect. I don't know what happened. Well, I guess I _do_ know what happened but can't we get past that?"

"Sure, we can. See you around, McKay."

"No, John, wait. You're – you're my best friend. I missed you. Yes, we had a little tiff but that's done now. Kiss, kiss, hug, hug, I'm over it. So come here."

John watches in disbelief as Rodney lunges for him and he steps back so that Rodney grabs an armful of empty air. "McKay. You were right. Just let it go."

"What? No. No, no, no, no, I can't let this go, are you crazy?" Rodney's gaze rakes over him in a kind of desperate lust that is surprisingly touching. "Fuck, you're so gorgeous and it's like you don't even know it. How c – wait. What do you mean you're looking for another tutor? Have you no sense of self-preservation? Do you think you're going to find anyone who knows more about spectral theory than me?"

John shakes his head. "I'm out of here."

"Okay, right, off topic. You can't do this, John. I won't let you. You – you need me, certainly in the academic sense and – p-plus, there's the slightly minor and hugely embarrassing fact that I – I'm in – l-l –" Rodney swallows hard. "Please, please don't make me say it."

John has trouble taking his next breath, thanks to a new and weird pressure on his chest. "Just calm down," John says with a totally false calm. "You're gonna stroke out."

"A cerebral hemorrhage would be a gift at this point. Oh, God, I can't believe this," Rodney moans, walking back and forth across the floor like a little duck in a carnival shooting gallery. "Someone amazing wants me and I reject him. Then, I come to my senses and I throw myself at him like a cheap slut and he turns me down. This could only happen to me."

He wishes he had the heart to enjoy this meltdown because it's always entertaining to watch Rodney lose it. But John's heart is feeling a little sore right now and it's obvious that Rodney is really in distress. "Rodney, So let's just move on, okay – ow, _fuck_." John groans out loud when he forgets and closes his hands into fists, causing his bruised and throbbing joints to protest.

"What? What? What did you do to yourself?" Rodney's at his side before John can take evasive action. Rodney takes John's hand in both of his, stroking his thumb tenderly over John's red knuckles. Then he leans in close, his silky blond hair near enough to brush against John's face and John feels a jolt of lust go through his body. He pulls his hand free.

"Can you – do you have any ice?" John asks, his voice hoarse.

Rodney starts, as if surprised by the request. "Oh, sure. Well, that is, I can get some. Now, you wait here. Don't leave." He grabs for the leatherette ice bucket on the dresser and speed walks toward the door. "Just – don't move."

Once he's alone, John sits down at the foot of the bed and looks around the room. It's the exact same layout as his and Mitch's room: same floral bedspread, same lamps, same bolted down TV with the same fake wood veneer. But Rodney's definitely left his mark on the bad hotel décor – an open bag of Ruffles on the dresser, with an unopened bag next to it; a six pack of root beer; Twinkie wrappers and stray M&amp;Ms and something that's either a melted vanilla shake or a glass of curdled milk.

John's torn between affection and horror. With all this junk food, the guests of the Sand Dollar Inn should probably consider themselves lucky that Rodney didn't go on a sugar-fueled rampage.

He falls onto his back and gazes up at the popcorn ceiling, wondering why he never sees these things coming. Even Rodney.

No. Especially Rodney.

========

Rodney is waiting in the hall outside his apartment when John returns from his last class. John grins at the sight of him, still pink-cheeked from the cold and shifting impatiently from one foot to another. "Well? So?" Rodney demands.

John unlocks the door and walks inside. He drops his backpack on the way to the fridge and Rodney nearly trips over it, he's following him so closely.

He opens the door to grab a beer and Rodney's right there. "John, come on. Tell me. What did you make?"

John takes two bottles out and shuts the door. He smiles at Rodney. "98."

Rodney's face falls. "Why not 100? What did you screw up?"

"Rodney – "

"Okay. Yes, you're right. 98. Good job, way to go, I knew you could do it and all that. Although with me for an instructor, only an idiot couldn't get at least a – "

"Shut up, genius and take the beer while I'm still in a good mood."

They get out of their coats and flop down on the couch. They've been spending a lot of evenings just like this – hunkered down in front of a hockey game or a Star Trek rerun, that is when Rodney isn't teaching him some complicated equation with more letters than numbers.

And even though Rodney continues to spout off about Sam Carter, he keeps coming around; whether John invites him or not, he shows up two or three nights a week, often enough that Mitch starts finding some place else to be whenever Rodney's there. Sometimes they go out but more often they don't and they end up here, with John watching Rodney's mouth and wondering if Rodney is really as oblivious as he seems to be.

"Now, we've got another month before Spring Break. You aren't going anywhere, are you, because the Feynmann stuff is coming up right after that and we should start working on that now. Unless, of course, that bastard Kavanaugh deviated from the syllabus again. You should check on that – "

"Hey, Rodney?" John lets his head rest back against the sofa cushion and he looks at Rodney, knowing his expression is saying volumes about the way he feels and letting it come anyway. Judging from the way that Rodney stares back, all big blue eyes and slack jaw, he's getting it.

"Thanks a lot, buddy," John says softly, almost under his breath. "I couldn't have done it without you."

It's a mistake, like the mention of "the work" flips on a switch and whatever Rodney saw before that is forgotten. But he turns toward John on the sofa, scoots over closer, close enough that John can smell the beer on his breath. John draws it in deeply, because sometimes, he's afraid that's the best he'll have of Rodney, a few square feet of shared oxygen.

"John, no, that's the thing, you _could_ have done it without me." Rodney's speaking softly, which is something that Rodney never does and it makes the moment feel unbearably intimate.

"See, I never expected you to be so – really, I took one look at you and thought 'pretty face, empty head'. I had planned to quit after our first session. And then, I knew, I could tell after the first few minutes that you are brilliant. It was exciting, actually. Like discovering a new moon."

As he speaks, Rodney's whole face lights up and John knows this about Rodney, knows how much he respects intelligence and focus in others. But he directs it at John this time and suddenly, John can't breathe.

"That's why I hate to think of you joining the military. You just can't do it, it will be such a waste."

"It's just part of the contingency. It's not my first choice," John answers but he's already drifting. John looks down at Rodney's hand. It's almost resting next to John's hip. It's so close John can almost feel the weight of it, the slow, drifting warmth of it.

"Rodney?" John sits up a little, so he can slide over, into Rodney's space, into the orbit of Rodney's bright presence.

"What?" Rodney squeaks, looking nervous but not moving away. John moves even closer, and keeps moving until Rodney is pressed back into the arm of the couch and they're chest to chest.

"I think you're pretty, too," John whispers against Rodney's lips. Rodney makes a tiny surprised sound and John presses his mouth tenderly against his. It's gentle enough to give Rodney plenty of room to reject it, but it doesn't happen. Rodney's wonderful, fast-moving mouth slows way down, allowing John in, welcoming John with a shy nudge of his tongue and then, they're really kissing, full throttle.

John feels Rodney place a tentative hand on the back of his neck, feels Rodney's fingers slide into his hair and it makes John shiver. He wants desperately to get a hand on some skin, to get Rodney's hand on _him_. But before John can put that plan into action, Rodney heaves John off of him and he's up, panting heavily and looking totally spooked.

"John, what the hell?"

John slowly sits upright, his arms trembling with the effort. He's so hard he's in danger of popping a seam, but the look on Rodney's face drains him of all energy. "I'm sorry," John says thickly. "I thought you wanted that."

Rodney's face turns bright red. "What made you think that? Did I – "

"No, Rodney, you didn't do anything." John swallows and reluctantly meets Rodney's bewildered stare. "It's my fault. I – I care about you. A lot." As a confession, it leaves a lot to be desired, but it's the best that John can do right now.

Rodney sucks in a sharp breath and goes into motion, grabbing his coat from where he dropped it, pulling it on and moving toward the door.

"I'm sorry, John, I – I have to think about this. I'll call you. I'm sorry."

Two weeks later, John is still waiting for Rodney's call when Mitch brings up the trip to South Padre. John jumps at the chance.

========

The door opens and Rodney is talking before he even clears the hallway.

"I'm pretty sure this is the last bucket of ice in this hotel. I had to go down to the second floor to get this," he babbles, taking the bucket into the bathroom.

"Uh, look. I should go. I need to check on Mitch."

"Oh, I don't think you want to go back down there. The police have our former party hosts up against a wall and are reading them their rights. Better give them time to clear out first. Here we go." Rodney emerges with a makeshift compress and a smile that reminds John of the day he said _to hell with it_ and kissed Rodney for the first time.

John doesn't move when Rodney kneels down in front of him; Rodney doesn't look at him, either but John can see the pink flush high on his cheeks. Rodney doesn't weigh any more than John does but he has these broad shoulders that he uses to nudge John's thighs apart so he can get close enough.

It makes John hard in three seconds flat because he can't help but think about how close Rodney's mouth is to his dick. Or all the nights he's spent thinking about holding onto those shoulders from behind while he slams into Rodney's gorgeous ass. John shifts on the mattress, trying to hide evidence of his arousal.

If Rodney notices, he doesn't mention it. He takes John's hand in one of his and gently applies the cold washcloth to John's bruised knuckles with the other. John can't resist closing his fingers around the span of warm flesh for a couple of seconds. And when Rodney squeezes back, John's breath snags in his chest.

He has to say something, because this is getting too intimate, the room is getting too warm. "Since when are you such a caretaker, McKay?" John asks, his voice coming out rougher than usual.

Rodney glances up briefly before returning his attention to John's hand. "I've made a lot of changes recently," Rodney answers with un-Rodney-like softness.

"Rodney – "

Rodney keeps talking, as if John hadn't spoken. "I thought I'd approach it as I would any other research project, not because I needed convincing but because I knew that _you_ would. I looked at the Kinsey scale, of course and the Klein scale, which seems more credible than Kinsey's and clearly, I'm mostly heterosexual, with incidental homosexual tendencies and can't you understand?"

Rodney lets the compress fall to the floor, rising up on his knees and running his hands slowly up and down John's thighs, his thumbs providing slightly firmer pressure on the inside. John shivers, employing all his powers of concentration to keep from moving his hips off the mattress, toward Rodney, toward frigging heaven.

"You're my incident, I'm gay for _you,_ John, and I'm sorry about what happened, for ever having any doubts, but no one has ever told me that they cared for me, not like that. I just didn't have sufficient data to know how I'd react."

John chokes out a laugh. "No shit," John cracks, and the words are barely out of his mouth before Rodney stands up, shoves him onto his back and straddles him, settling his hips directly over John's groin. John sucks in a breath and then Rodney's mouth is on his.

John doesn't do anything for a second or two but lie there, breathing Rodney in, filling every available space in his lungs with the warm, clean smell of Rodney until he's dizzy with it. Rodney kisses him like he's dying for it and fuck it all, John's been dying for it too and with a groan, he gives it up, gives up _everything._ John pulls Rodney closer and licks his way into Rodney's sweet mouth.

The kiss is all heat and hunger and slow slide of tongue and Rodney makes small needy sounds in the back of his throat that guarantee that John is going to go off like a shot in less than a minute. Rodney grinds his hips down and John arches his up, feeling the delicious pressure of Rodney's erection on John's aching dick and John doesn't give a good fuck whether Rodney decides to turn tail and run again. It feels so good, he just doesn't care, as long as he gets to come. _Rodney, Rodney._

John's panting and squirming underneath Rodney, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and pulling him closer. John wants to get Rodney naked, wants to take a long look at that smooth, pale torso, wants to get his mouth on what feels like a pretty impressive cock, but before John can move, Rodney shoves his hand up John's tee shirt and gives one of his nipples a tender pinch and John has just enough time to reach around and grab Rodney's ass with both hands before he's lifting his hips off the mattress and coming and coming.

It lasts forever, or so it feels like and John's still pushing up and clinging to Rodney's shoulders when he realizes that Rodney isn't kissing him anymore and is holding himself over John, watching him. John looks up into his red, sweaty face and thinks he's never been happier in his life.

"Oh, God, that was so – you're so fucking beautiful when you come, it's like – " Rodney's starts grinding against him again and he's still talking when John heaves up and flips Rodney onto his back, settling his post-orgasm heavy body on top of him.

Rodney stares up with wide eyes. "Wow, that was so hot. How did you do that?"

John kisses him hard. "You haven't come yet?"

"No," Rodney says through clenched teeth, "but I'm really, really close."

John sits up and starts to open Rodney's jeans. "Don't come yet," John orders in his best ROTC voice. "Got me, McKay? You come and I never touch your dick again."

Rodney starts breathing in and out in quick, short pants, like a woman in labor. "Fine – but just – for future ref – rence, the bossy thing? Doesn't really – help with – the not coming."

John laughs softly and pulls Rodney's pants and boxers down past his thighs. He sits back and looks at Rodney's cock – it's red and stiff and leaving a wet smear on his stomach. His balls are tight and high beneath his cock and John can sympathize with how badly Rodney needs to come.

"John. _Please_."

He slides down, ignoring the uncomfortable wetness in his own boxers and places a tender kiss against Rodney's inner thigh. And then, aware of Rodney's trembling body and uneven breathing, John slides his lips up the length of Rodney's cock and takes the head into his mouth, humming with pleasure at the taste of salt on his tongue. John gives it one strong suck and that's all it takes for Rodney to arch off the bed and come. John takes it all, pulling every drop out of Rodney until he whimpers and pulls at John's hair.

"Hey," John protests but he crawls up and lets Rodney pull him in and kiss him long and hungrily.

"I am so gay, so very gay," Rodney says between the kisses he stamps on John's face, "so totally enthusiastically gay." And John can't help but laugh. Partly because of Rodney and partly because he loves Texas and he loves the beach and he loves this crazy thing he's going to have with Rodney McKay.

John takes Rodney's face in his hands. He looks at Rodney's crooked smile and his very blue eyes and as the afterglow begins to fade, John feels his heart twist with sudden fear. He's listened to Rodney talk ad nauseam about his noble love for Samantha Carter for eight weeks and what if –

"What?" Rodney asks softly. "John?"

He shakes it off, giving Rodney his most careless grin. "Come on. We need a shower." He starts to get up when Rodney grabs a fistful of his tee shirt, holding him in place.

"You idiot," Rodney says with a combination of tenderness and abrasiveness that is solely Rodney's. "I'm not going anywhere and I'm not going to change my mind. I'm very decisive and no one can make me change my mind once I've settled on something." Rodney's still on his back but he lifts his chin smugly. "You'll find that out for yourself over the next several decades but for now, just take my word for it and stop acting like a dunce."

John feels his expression soften and he lets Rodney cradle him close. "Okay," John says against Rodney's warm neck, his throat uncomfortably tight. "Okay."

 

========

John wraps some ice in a washcloth and brings it to Mitch. "Here ya go. How's it feel?"

Mitch flinches when the compress touches his skin. "Well, it's not too bad," Mitch tells him, glaring out of one eye. "As long as I don't move or, you know, _breathe_."

John grins, a little ashamed of the happiness singing through his veins. "Sorry. I guess I lost it a little."

"Yeah, no shit," Mitch grumbles. "You haven't punched anybody since sixth grade. Remember? When Dex wrote 'John loves Mrs. Watson' on the blackboard."

Sitting down on the bed next to Mitch, John tilts his head. "Huh. Did I even connect? I thought I tripped on the leg of the desk and sorta fell into him."

Mitch takes the makeshift icepack away from his cheek. "Whatever. And don't change the subject. You might clue me in on big stuff like this in the future, Shep." He looks a little hurt, separate from his rapidly blackening eye. "I mean, what did you think I was going to do, huh?"

"I guess I didn't know how you'd react." It's the truth. He _thought_ he knew how Mitch would react but he wasn't sure and John didn't want to risk losing his friendship.

"Well, that sucks, man." Mitch gets up and glares down at him. "I've known you since Little League. And what? You think I'm gonna dump you because you like dick?"

"I like pussy, too," John shoots back defensively, feeling a little protective of his bisexuality. "Well. Sometimes. It's just that Rodney is – "

"Whoa. Don't give me the details. You can talk all day long and I'm not gonna get why you fell for McKay, although I guess you always did go for the smart ones. I'm just saying – haven't I always been an advocate of getting laid? As often as possible?" Before John can answer, Mitch plows ahead, leaning down close to his face. "Did I ever say it _had_ to be with a chick? Did I?"

"You implied it."

Mitch scowls and then grimaces as the expression reminds him of current bruised state. With a loud sigh, he sits down beside John and leans forward with his elbows on his thighs, putting the ice back on his face. "Asshole," he says softly with barely a hint of anger.

John puts his hand on Mitch's shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze. "I'm sorry, buddy. I should have trusted you."

For a while the vibration of the bass line from an old Foreigner song is the only sound in the room. Then, Mitch sits up and looks at him with a smirk. "Jesus, Shep, the gay part is one thing but are you gonna turn into a girl, too?"

A warm rush of relief goes through him and John laughs. "Fuck you," he says and throws both arms around Mitch, wrestling him down to the floor.

Ice goes everywhere and John yelps when Mitch shoves a cube down John's shirt. "Get off me, you freak, I don't swing that way." They roll around on the floor, like they've been doing since third grade when the door swings open and bangs against the wall.

"_No_. Stop. Let Mitch alone."

They both freeze, their hands fisted in each other's shirts and look up to see Mitch's friend from the previous night, the marine biologist, coming toward them under a full head of righteous steam. Before John can move, she's slapping at him with open palms, landing stinging blows to his shoulders and the back of his head.

John covers his head with his arms and tries to squirm away at the same time and is spectacularly unsuccessful. "Hey – will you – goddamnit, Mitch, tell her – "

But Mitch is laughing too hard to be of much use.

========

The next morning, on their last full day in South Padre, they drive to a Waffle House for breakfast. John takes the middle position in a corner booth, with Rodney and Mitch glaring at each other from either side of him.

Granted, the morning had not been exactly smooth. John had spent the night in Rodney's room and when Mitch appeared at the door to pick them up, his mirrored glasses hiding his black eye, he'd taken one look at the beard burn on John's neck and at the Cheshire-cat smile that Rodney directed right at Mitch and John had been forced to separate them again.

"All right, guys, look. The three of us are going to be spending a lot of time together, so you both need to just get over it, already. Don't make me force you to shake hands." He waggles his eyebrows at Mitch. "Or hug."

Mitch winces, Rodney snorts and the ice cracks, just a little. Once their food arrives, Mitch asks Rodney for maple syrup without using a single profanity, Rodney slides it across the table instead of throwing it and John looks on like a proud papa.

Later, back at the hotel, John shoves Rodney back against the door and kisses him slowly, taking his time, because he's got time now, time enough to learn the taste of Rodney that's there, beneath the syrup and the coffee, beneath the frenetic energy that keeps so many people at bay.

"Mmm," Rodney says when John kisses his way across Rodney's cheek and down to his neck, "you're going to kill me, aren't you? I'll never survive this kind of attention on a regular basis." Rodney wraps his arms around John and holds him with surprising strength.

John lifts his head. "Is that a complaint?"

"No complaint, absolutely not. So it's our last day here. What _shall_ we do?"

He wiggles a little so that Rodney's hand goes into his pants easier. "Relax, Rodney," John says with a groan. "We've got lots of time."


End file.
